


Folk Songs and Firelight

by WyldMagic



Category: Wandersong (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 03:57:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17501105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WyldMagic/pseuds/WyldMagic
Summary: Miriam hugged her knees to her chest, wishing the fire would smolder and leave her in darkness.[song of the wayfarer campfire scene]





	Folk Songs and Firelight

**Author's Note:**

> Song of the Wayfarer [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4AQegXhv7n8]
> 
> Bard is named Bard (they/them)

     Miriam hugged her knees to her chest, wishing the fire would smolder and leave her in darkness.

     She’d sat as far from the fire pit as she could get away with—on the ground, back against a log, practically invisible if she stayed still enough. If Bard hadn’t caught her and tugged her along by the wrist, she’d be on a rooftop on the other side of the walled village with nothing but personal misery for comfort. A quaint lumber town cut off from their capital city that plays music every night with their weird familiars? Hard pass.

     Near her, Bard sat cross-legged against the same log and drummed their fingers over one knee. Their head was probably filled with an idle melody that would worm its way into Miriam’s ears if they sang it aloud. Even their quiet tapping was infectious.

     If Miriam was honest, everything about them was infectious, but that was a discussion for her future self to deal with.

     The fire crackled as Ping added another chunk of wood. He jumped out of the way as soon as he’d dropped it in, racing back to his seat next to his mother. He looked over at Miriam and narrowed his eyes, a faint scowl on his lips.

 _I want to go home,_ thought Miriam for the fourth time that day.

     Phil rested a banjo over his knees and fiddled with the tuning knobs. The old thing had seen better days—Miriam had heard enough instruments to know that a cracked rim and frayed strings needed Eya’s help to sound halfway decent. Phil plucked an open chord and muttered under his breath.

     “Jordan, you got your tuning fork on you?” he asked.

     The gruff man on the log nearby shook his head. His rough voice was just indistinct enough that for a moment Miriam thought one of the pirates had joined them from the Lady Arabica.

 _Maybe I should’ve stayed with the pirates,_ she thought, ignoring the chatter between the townsfolk. _Nothing but open skies and deserted islands. That’s the sort of place where no one would bother me, or ask me annoying questions like ‘you look like you have a lot on your_ mind _, Miriam’, or ‘why are you so_ grumpy _all the time, Miriam’, or ‘do you want to talk about what’s_ wrong _, Miriam’—_

     She paused, stealing a look at Bard. They’d perked up at the sound of Phil’s tuning and mulled over a few notes under their breath. One of the qin, a little squirrel-like critter with black and white patches, wandered over and mirrored the sounds with its squeaks. Bard laughed, and smiled at Miriam.

     “Isn’t this nice?” they said quietly.

     “I—kind of?” Miriam whispered. She dug her fingernails into her leggings. “Aside from the attack bird, and the monsters outside, and…”

     She trailed off, remembering all those distrustful stares, the whispers of ‘witch’ on the wind steeped with malice.

     “I just… I don’t want to be here. Right now. Can we go? I can fly at night; it’s not a problem for me.”

     Bard winced, clearly at war with themself. They glanced at Phil and Jordan, the other lumber townsfolk, then back at Miriam with sad brown eyes.

     “Are you sure we can’t stay until morning?” they said. “I _did_ promise Phil we’d stay for a song or two.”

     “You— _what_? When was this?”

     “A little after we got here. I think you were being all mopey by the wall.” Bard scratched the back of their head. “We can go after one song, though.”

     “Urgh,” Miriam groaned, leaning her head back to stare at the night sky. “Fine. One song. Then we’re outta here.”

     Bard suddenly yawned behind their gloved hand. Miriam resisted the urge to tug her hair out of her scalp.

     “Then we _sleep_ , and we leave first thing in the _morning_ , okay?”

     “Okay!”

     Miriam turned her head away, staring into the white-hot embers.

     Across the fire, Jordan waved an irate hand at Phil and crossed his arms. His granddaughter patted him on the shoulder, and he made room for her to sit on his lap.

     “Alright,” Phil said, “tomorrow we’ll make sure we inventory our music-related gear so we don’t lose a _tuning fork_ by throwing it at _monsters outside the gate._ Okay? Okay.” He cleared his throat. “Mind giving us a G, wayfarer?”

     Bard sat up. “Of course!” they said. Even sitting down, they sang a bright unwavering note that made Ping’s heron qin squawk and ruffle its feathers.

     Phil nodded and adjusted the tuning knobs, plucking each string and marking it up or down by minute intervals. His bear of a dog qin woofed approvingly. Phil raised a hand, halting Bard’s relative pitch, and then strummed a beautiful G major.

     Bard softly clapped. Miriam rolled her eyes.

     “What’re you thinkin’, Phil?” asked Xia, Ping’s mother.

     Phil rubbed his stubbly chin. “Not quite sure, Xia. Normally I’d let the guests choose, but since our wayfaring friends here ain’t from these parts, I doubt they’d know our Rullen songs.”

     “Can we pick ‘quiet time alone’?” Miriam asked.

     “She doesn’t mean that,” Bard said. They gave Phil an appeasing smile and leaned over to pat Miriam on the shoulder. Miriam huffed.

     “Do the one about the witch,” Jordan suggested.

     “Wayfarer and the Witch! Wayfarer and the Witch!” his granddaughter said.

     Phil chuckled, raising an eyebrow at Bard and Miriam. He leaned back and adjusted his banjo to rest comfortably across his hefty stomach.

     “This one’s a bit of a local legend,” he explained as he began fingering the strings. “Long time ago, ‘fore the war, a wayfarer came down these parts and met a captivating witch that stole their heart. Folks say it happened in these here woods…”

 _Give me a break,_ Miriam thought. _So does every campfire story._

     Phil let the notes hang empty in the air for two whole stanzas before he opened his mouth to sing:

_On the last eve of her travels,_

_Under full moon’s twinklin’ glow,_

_A wayfarer true of heart_

_Was drawn to a meadow_ …

 

     As soon as Phil sang, Bard added the root in a soft open vowel; they’d caught the chord progression from the empty measures and knew just when to modulate.

     Miriam tapped her fingers.

_Where the trees stood still an’ silent,_

_Watchin’ a maid twirl in the air,_

_Her breath escaped in song, and_

_Her soul had been ensnared…_

 

     Ping, sulking in the shade behind his mother, pouted with his heron qin. Xia slapped her son on the chest with the back of her hand and, reluctantly, Ping’s reedy voice joined the chorus.

_They danced in step_

_Weightless in time_

_With nothin’ left, but_

_Two hearts entwined…_

 

     Phil closed his eyes and plucked the open chords from memory, chin tilted back to catch the moonlight on his face. Jordan’s granddaughter Savita had a blade of grass in her hands and pretended she was playing along.

     Miriam looked up at the stars.

_From that moment on,_

_The witch’s magic burned_

_The spell’d been cast, and_

_Her love did slowly learn…_

 

     The whole town sang. It was uneven and sloppy, and people moved from line to line at their own volition, but for one brief stretch of time music was all they knew and all they cared to be.

_As each night linger’d on_

_The wayfarer’s soul grew thin_

_Her body faded softly_

_As the spell pulled her in…_

 

_They danced in step_

_Weightless in time_

_With nothing left, but…_

 

     “Two hearts entwined,” Bard and Miriam sang under their breath.

     Miriam stiffened, nearly biting her tongue with how quickly she shut her mouth. She didn’t mean to sing that.

     The townsfolk applauded in muted claps, respectful of the night. Phil’s qin shook its coat and pawed at him for a snack.

     “That was beautiful,” Bard said.

     Miriam glanced at them out of the corner of her eye, looking for any sign that they’d overheard her singing. But, no—Bard’s face was that same awestruck, starry-eyed expression they wore whenever music moved them.

     “Glad you like it, wayfarer,” Phil said with a wink. “According to tales, the wanderer was a girl from Rulle, and she met one of the Chaandesh witches back when they still roamed these parts by the border.”

     “Why did the witch curse the wayfarer, then?” Bard asked. “If they were in love, then they could live happily together.”

     Phil shrugged.

     “That’s just what witches do,” he said plainly.

     Miriam’s head shot up. “Wait, so you think we go around ‘snatching souls’ and ‘ensnaring lovers’? That sounds like the worst made-up story about witches I’ve ever heard. You don’t seriously believe that, do you?”

     Nothing but crackling firewood broke the silence. Miriam blinked, dumbfounded.

     “Oh, my god, do you actually? What is _with_ this backwards country?”

     “Miriam,” Bard warned.

     “Hey now, it’s not like we see a lot of witches comin’ through town these days,” Phil said. He kept a meaty hand on his dog qin’s head to keep it from growling. “It’s hard to tell truth from superstition when you don’t have much to go on.”

     “We have _plenty_ to go on!” shouted Ping, darting out from behind Xia’s back. He stabbed a finger at Miriam. “Witches are nothing but evil folk! Where do you think the monsters out there came from? You _witches_ cursed the souls of Chaandesh soldiers to plague our gates and destroy our precious forest! You have no respect for our way of life!”

     “Don’t lump me in with your stupid prejudices—I’m not even _from_ here!” Miriam exclaimed. She was on her feet in an instant, quivering with rage, hands balled into fists at her side. She didn’t feel Bard’s steadying hand on her shoulder.

     “But it’s true!” Ping said. “You witches want to kill the forest and wipe Rulle off the map! Soul-snatching devils—”

     “Hey, now, settle down, Ping,” Phil said.

     “But—”

     “I said _settle down_.”

     Ping sat back on the log with an exaggerated huff; his heron qin protectively spread its wings in front of him and shrieked at Miriam.

     “Miriam, please,” Bard said quietly.

     Miriam released the tension in her hands. She hadn’t felt the sparks spring to her fingertips, hadn’t seen the white-blue glow of her magic as it threatened to break loose. She shook her hands out, making sure the energy was gone, and folded her arms tight across her chest.

     “I want to leave,” she whispered to Bard. They nodded and squeezed her shoulder.

     “Phew, it’s gettin’ awful late,” Phil said. “Why don’t we douse the fire and get some shuteye, everyone…”

     “You two are welcome to the lumber barn loft,” Jordan said as he and Savita stood to leave. “Ain’t much there but some sacks and old equipment but we can bring up some proper blankets.”

     “That would be lovely,” Bard said. They still hadn’t taken their hand off Miriam’s shoulder.

     Jordan grunted and beckoned them to follow.

     Miriam spent the night curled in the loft corner against a pile of sawdust sacks, watching the moon through the slats in the barn roof. Bard’s gentle sleep-singing did nothing to ease the taut band of worry around her ribs that strangled her at every breath. Witches. Monsters. Curses. Evil, evil, evil.

 _I want to go home,_ Miriam thought.

**Author's Note:**

> it's not exact to the in-game dialogue but more like a loose novelization. hope you enjoyed it
> 
> ping sucks


End file.
